Fight or Flight
by Fire Dancer1
Summary: A continuation of Brothers and Sisters. And yes, it's Luby.


Fight or Flight by Kate  
  
The fear is, strangely, an unfamiliar sensation. And it takes her a while to dig through the fuzziness of her sleep-filled mind and figure out what has awoken her. Then she hears it again. A crash from upstairs. The fear again. Heart pounding, she slides her legs from under the comforter and gropes for the sweater she always keeps at her bedside. Tugging it over her head, she pauses, her ears alert, her body ready. Fight or flight. But all is silent.  
  
She chides herself silently for being so easily frightened. But she isn't used to being vulnerable, to being alone. She had gotten used to being at Luka's, gotten used to having him just down the hall, gotten used to sleeping peacefully with the knowledge of his presence. And now she's alone again, and afraid. She pads lightly to the living room, double- checking the dead bolt, pausing again to listen. Nothing. And Luka's handiwork is still holding strong. She shakes her head, almost embarrassed at her nervousness. But now she's certainly too jumpy to go back to bed.  
  
She crouches on the couch, her knees up, almost as if she's readying herself for flight. And there it sits. A half-empty beer bottle, calling her name. She sees her arm reach out, almost as if she's watching a stranger's arm. She sees her hand rest tentatively on the neck of the bottle. And she almost picks it up. She slides it towards her, then away from her, towards, away. Like a dance. And her hand and the bottle keep doing this strange tango until she suddenly realizes it's not what she wants. It's not what she needs. She gives the bottle one last shove, and it slides away from her, coming to rest near the phone.  
  
The phone. Suddenly she has the urge to talk to someone, anyone. She picks the handset up, depressing the talk button. And her mind draws a blank. All the numbers she's ever called seem to flee her mind. Sighing in frustration, she exchanges the phone for the TV remote. Drink, small talk, television. If it isn't one form of oblivion, it's another. The tinny sounds of canned laughter fill the living room, strangely putting her nerves even more on edge. Jerry Springer's topic tonight is something like Men Who Sleep With Their Cousins. She wonders how they find people to go on shows like these. Grimacing with distaste, she flicks the TV off, resting her head on her knees.  
  
In the darkness again, she's lonely. Afraid and lonely, a bad combination. She glances at the previously rejected bottle, feeling the thirst creep up her throat, tickling her mouth. She's angry now. Angry at whatever it was that woke her up, angry at the bottle sitting there mocking her, angry at Luka for making her forget what it was to be alone.  
  
Luka. And just like that, she knows what she wants.  
  
~*~  
  
Standing outside his door, she's reminded of the last time she showed up unannounced. This time, there's no loud music. Just, finally, the soft sounds of someone stumbling in a sleep-stupor around the apartment. She's forgotten how late it is. She hears him fumbling with the lock, and as the door opens, the words she's rehearsed in her mind leave her. Silence.  
  
He swipes a hand over his eyes, but somehow doesn't seem surprised to see her. He holds the door open, waiting. "I.I, ah." she stumbles over even starting a sentence. He smiles foggily, still trying to shake the sleep from his head, but smiles just the same, encouraging her. "I guess." she continues, "I just didn't feel.safe." She looks down quickly, scuffing the toe of her shoe on the dark carpet.  
  
He simply looks at her and opens the door wider. "Then you should stay," he states, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.  
  
"No, no, I'm sorry." she backtracks, almost against her will. "I'm sorry."  
  
"Hey." He stops her barrage of apologies with a hand on her shoulder. With slight pressure on her arm, he pulls her into the apartment and closes the door. "Welcome back," he says, and she's able to smile at him, nodding her acquiescence and thanks.  
  
She stands shyly in the living room, slowly placing her coat on the edge of the couch. He's gathering blankets from the cupboard and turns to look at her closely. "Do you really want the couch?" He tosses the blankets next to her coat. "It's not really that comfortable."  
  
"No, it's fine," she insists. "Very comfortable."  
  
He knows she's lying and laughs a little. "I'll never convince you to take the bed?" He steps towards her with a flirty look on his face. "Ever?" She shakes her head, mentally kicking herself for having the gall to blush. She suspects that he knows she's lying again, with the redness of her face canceling that negative answer. But he doesn't let on, only hands her a pillow. "You left your toothbrush in the bathroom," he says, shrugging, "If you need anything else."  
  
"Thanks, Luka." She tosses the pillow back on the couch and heads slowly for the bathroom. As she walks away, she feels him watching her.  
  
~*~  
  
The apartment is dark again when she comes out of the bathroom, save a small lamp on the table next to the couch. She lies down, drawing the blankets around her body and taking a deep breath. They smell like him. And here, though she is no longer afraid, she is still lonely. She tries to convince herself to sleep, but of course that never works. Contemplating the TV in front of her, she remembers Jerry Springer and quickly rejects that idea.  
  
Who is she fooling? She slides off the couch, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders. Approaching his door, she tentatively pushes it open. She has to blink a few times until her eyes adjust to the dim light. He's sleeping. She stands in the doorway. What now?  
  
Finally, he stirs on the bed. She can see the glint of his open eyes and it startles her. "Change your mind?" His voice is amused, and she wonders how long he's been lying there, watching her.  
  
She nods, taking a few tentative steps into the room. He says nothing, just watches her approach. Finally she's standing next to the bed, and he smiles up at her. "I forgot to tell you," he whispers, "the bed comes with me."  
  
She's grateful for the darkness that masks yet another deep blush. With only the slightest hesitation, she grasps his proffered hand and allows him to pull her next to him. Sliding under the covers, she presses her back against his body, relishing his comfort.  
  
As she's about to drift to sleep, she feels his arms tighten around her. "Welcome home," she hears, and smiles softly as peaceful sleep claims her. 


End file.
